Little Things
by Melannen Halfelven
Summary: Jaenelle's mortality crashes down on Daemon, and he asks himself: what will he do once she is gone? feedback appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

The Little Things

Daemon's heart twisted viciously when he saw how Jaenelle grabbed her side and grimaced in pain. It was worse now than it had been even a few days earlier. Always worse. Always more painful. She was pale, and there were dark shadows beneath her eyes. He reached over and took her hand in his. She smiled at him, but it did not hide the pain she was in. He stood up and wrapped the blanket more tightly around her small form. It hurt him more than he could have ever imagined when she did not snap at him for being fussy. The lump in his throat threatened to surface, but he buried it ruthlessly.

She will be alright, he told himself. Over and over and over again. Always he told himself that, but never did it do any good. He prayed to the Darkness, oh how he prayed! But nothing worked. No amount of healers, and no amount of prayers stopped the disease.

Seeing that anguished look in his golden eyes, Jaenelle reached up and brushed his cheek with the back of her hand. She could not say what he wanted, needed to hear, because it would be a lie. They both knew in their hearts it would be a lie. She could not lie to Daemon. All he had ever known was lies. Lies and hatred and deceit. She loved him, and wanted him to be happy, but she could not lie. Not to him.

The silence was broken by a shrill scream. "Papa!" Their young daughter, Cassandra, bounced into the room, and grabbed Daemon around the knees. Her dark brown hair was a mass of tangles. "Mornin'!" Her cheerfulness made him want to fall to his knees and weep.

Jaenelle smiled. "What is Mrs. Beale making for breakfast?"

Cassie wrinkled her nose and shrugged. "How should I know? I'm not allowed in there."

The thin layer of ice around Daemon's heart cracked and melted. How could he spoil her joy? He ruffled her hair, and she snarled at him. "Why don't you go and find out?"

Cassandra mumbled something he thankfully did not understand before running out of the room. He turned slowly to Jaenelle and smiled ruefully. They both knew the question that was lingering between them.

Will you live to see her grown?

They both knew the answer.

No.

He sat down beside her, unwilling to leave just yet. His place was beside her, and it would always be. He kissed her lightly on the mouth. He would not part with her. Not until he had to. The thought brought a new pain to the surface. One he had tried to ignore. What would become of him when she was gone?


	2. Chapter 2

Saetan gazed at the resigned man who sat at the other side of the large blackwood desk. His gold eyes were dull and lifeless, devoid of any light or sparkle. He was painfully thin, and his normally warm skin was a sickly yellow color. He looked tired, heartbroken, and resigned. The High Lord understood the emotions he saw in those eyes, for they were mirrored in his own. Yet, he could not face the man before him. He knew he would be asked to do something he could not.

"Do it." Daemon's voice was cracked and hoarse.

"Namesake, please."

"Do it." The Warlord Prince repeated.

"Daemon . . . ." The father pleaded.

::DO IT!:: His voice tore through Saetan's mind. ::Please, father. I beg you. I want to go. Let me go, please. Father . . . you are the only one who can do this . . .::

::Daemon, I cannot.::

"Father," he struggled to find control of his slipping emotions. He wanted to crumble and weep into his father's shoulder. "I lost the one person who I could ever love, you must understand that and try to understand why I want you to do this." He whispered.

::I love you, Daemon.::

With tears rolling down his face, Saetan unleashed a wave of Black power. With no barriers around his Self, Daemon's eyes went blank when the power hit him. He crumbled down from the chair. He was in Saetan's arms before he hit the floor. "Daemon, you fool." Saetan brushed the black hair from his son's face. "Namesake!" He yelled, but got no response. Daemon had returned to the Darkness.

Lucivar looked up when he heard the double doors to his father's study open. "Cassie, Daemonar, go see what Mrs. Beale is cooking." He said absently, unable to look away from the pale figure in the doorway. The two young children hurried off down the stairs, racing each other.

Fighting with his own denial, Lucivar spoke. "Where's Daemon?" To himself he wondered, _Where is my brother? Where's my Bastard?_ With a barely perceptible nod towards his study, Saetan started walking down the hall, his eyes distant and unreachable.

Lucivar knew that Daemon would have a hard time with Jaenelle's death, as they all did, but as he saw his brother's lifeless body Lucivar began to understand just how deep his brother's love and devotion had been. He tried to blink back his tears, but could not. ::Bastard? DAEMON!:: He cradled his brother's head in his lap, cursing to unhearing ears. "Damn you, Sadi, why did you have to do this? Why?! You gutter son of a whore, I loved you!"

"Uncle Yas . . . ." Little Cassandra fell silent in the doorway. "Papa? Papa!" Stumbling over the hem of her dress, she collapsed by Lucivar, crying. "Papa! Papa, come back!" The Eyrien took his niece in a fierce hug.

"Cassie, shh. Shhh." His tears wet her hair, and her's soaked through his shirt. "Come on, Cassie." He picked her up and carried her out, numb to the beating of her fists on his shoulders.

"PAPA!"

Saetan met him at the door, having heard his granddaughter screaming. He pulled his son into a tight embrace. "Let it go, Lucivar. Let it go." Lucivar's entire body shook as he wept. Cassie, still in his arms, buried her face in the crook of his neck, whimpering pitifully.

"They're both g-gone." Lucivar's normally steely voice was uneven and cracked. "I never t-thought it would h-happen."

"Neither did I, my son. Neither did I." Saetan slowly pulled away and took Cassie from Lucivar. His free arm he wrapped around his son's shaking shoulders. "The rest of the family needs to know."

Lucivar nodded slightly, leaning heavily on his father. "He was my brother."

"He still is."


End file.
